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r FRENCH'S ACTING EDITION 
^ Number 246^ 

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A CURE FOR INDIFFERENCE 

A COMEDY 

BY 

GEOFFREY WILKINSON 

Copyright 1916 by Samuel French, Ltd. 

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A CURE FOR INDIFFERENCE 



The following plays for female characters only are 
recommended : — 

The Story of Corporal Bell (3 characters) . 
Between the Soup and the Savoury (3 characters). 
A Plume of Feathers (3 characters). 
Mechanical Jane (3 characters). 
Snowed up with a Duchess (4 characters). 
The Final Rehearsal (5 characters). 
Dog Days (5 characters). 

Copies sixpence each. 



A CURE 
FOR INDIFFERENCE 



A COMEDY 



By 



GEOFFREY WILKINSON 

»1 



y 



Copyright, 1916, by Samuel French, Ltd. 



New York 

SAMUEL FRENCH 

Publisher 

28-30 WEST 3 8th street 



London 

SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 

26 Southampton Street 

STRAND 






im -3 1916 

■©CI,D 43807 



^ 



~> 



A CURE FOR INDIFFERENCE 

Mrs. Susan Tilling . . . . A widow. 

Helen Bainbridge 1 . . . Her married meces. 

Sophie Frayle [ 

North . . . . • .A parlour-maid. 

Scene. — Mrs. Tilling's drawing-room, Bayswaier. 



The Fee for each and every representation of this play by 
Amateurs is One Guinea, payable in advance to — 

Messrs. Samuel French, Ltd., 

26, Southampton Street, 

Strand, London, 

or their authorized representatives. 

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has first been obtained. 

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formance of plays contained in French's list may be hired or 
purchased reasonably from Messrs. Charles H. Fox, Ltd., 
27 Wellington St., Strand, London. 



A CURE FOR INDIFFERENCE 

Scene. — Mrs. Tilling's drawing-room, Somewhere 
in Bayswater. 

Mrs. Tilling discovered in a comfortable armchair 
by the fireside, knitting. 

Mrs. Tilling is an elderly lady with a severe-looking 
countenance, but on second inspection there is a 
distinct twinkle in her eyes. 

{Enter North carrying a big dress box.) 

Mrs. Tilling. Is that you, North ? 

North. Yes, mum. I've brought down that 
cloak and hat which you said you wanted. 

Mrs. Tilling. Ah, yes — that's right, but why the 
box ? 

North. Well, I thought if you were sending 
them by post, mum 

Mrs. Tilling. But I'm not. North— still, never 
mind, the box will do very well. Place it over there 
by the window. I suppose you put the veil in ? 

North. Oh yes, mum, the veil's there, and — 
and — everything. 

Mrs. Tilling. Thank you. North, you're a good 
creature and very patient with an old lady's whims 
and fancies. You were married once, weren't you. 
North ? 

North. Yes, mum. 

7 



,Jm 



8 A CURE FOB INDIFFERENCE. 

Mrs. Tilling. Was it a success ? 
North. How do you mean, mum ? 
Mrs. Tilling. Did 5^ou love him ? 
North. Yes, mum. 
Mrs. Tilling. And did he love you ? 
North. Oh yes, mum. 

Mrs. Tilling. The real thing, I mean — he didn't 
grow indifferent ? 

North. Oh no, mum, I should hope not indeed. 
Mrs. Tilling. No, that's the worst of ail — indif- 
ference. If you're going to be wicked, be wicked, 
^ and do it with the vengeance ; if you're going to be 
^ good, be good, and build a cathedral in Whitechapel ; 
, if you're going to hate, hate ; and if you're going to 
/ love — well, do it properly. But never be indifferent 
— we can't stand that, it bends and it breaks us — 
it broke me — once. Indifference. 

{Bell.) 

Ah, there's the front door bell. Now I expect that's 
my niece, Mrs. Bainbridge, and I'm going to slip 
into the next .room to let her simmer down for a 
moment. 

North. Simni'er down ? 

Mrs. Tilling. Oh yes, she's sure to be in a rage. 
I'm not a soothsayer as a rule. North, but something 
tells me Mrs. Bainbridge will be in a fuming temper 
— this morning. Show her in. North, show her in. 

{She exits into a little room leading off the drawing- 
room while North goes to the front door to let in 
Mrs. Bainbridge.) 

{Re-enter North, showing in Mrs. Bainbridge.) 

(Mrs. Bainbridge comes in like a whirlwind. She 
is in a towering passion.) 

.--•..-vMrs.-; Bain BRIDGE. , I thought yo.u said, Mrs. 
Tilling was in ? 



A CURE FOR indifference: U 

North. So she is, mum, but she's engaged for a 
minute or two. 

Mrs. Bainbridge. Well ! I hope she won't be 
long ! {Exit North.) How tiresome to be kept 
waiting. {She begins to pace up mid down the room. 
After a moment she stops, seizes the telephone from the 
table and takes off the receiver.) Hullo ! Hullo ! 
2634 Bank. Yes — yes, 2-6-3-4 Bank. Don't be 
impertinent, I'm sure I speak perfectly distinctly. 
Hullo ! hullo ! Is that you, Mr. Miller ? I want 
to speak to my husband, please. It's Mrs. Bain- 
bridge speaking. Will you put me through ? Thank 
you. Is that you, Gerald ? Don't call me that name 
again — I forbid it, and I've just rung up to tell j^ou 
— I've done with you for ever ! ! That's final ! 
What ? Don't lose my temper about it ? I'm 
not losing my temper — I was never cooler in my 
life — I'm simply — simply — indifferent — oh ! how I 
hate you ! ! {Slams down receiver and begins pacing 
the room again.) 

{Re-enter Mrs. Tilling.) 

Mrs. Tilling. Ah, Helen, there you are, dear ; 
how charming you're looking this morning. 

Helen. Am I ? Well, I'm feeling anything 
but charming, in fact, I never felt worse in my life. 
I've come 

Mrs. Tilling. To see me — so good of you, dear. 
Won't you sit down ? 

Helen. No, thank you, I'd rather stand. I've 
— I've come to tell you something 

Mrs. Tilling. Now that's really kind of you — 
that's what I like — I love people to come and tell 
me things. What is it about ? Your new hat that 
Therese is designing for you ? Gerald tells me it's 
going to cost quite a lot of money — so it's sure to be 
nice. 

Helen. It's not about my hat I've come to see 
you — it's 



'^t/ie I 



10 A CL^KE rOK INDIFFERENCE. 

Mrs. Tilling. No ? Then it's about 5'our dress. 
That's more interesting stilh What colour are you 
going to have ? I always think blue suits you beit. 

Helen. It'snot about m^/ dress, either. I — I 

Mrs. Tilling. Of course — it's the Duchess's 

Nv, bridge party ! How stupid of me ! I quite forgot 

you v/ere going there on Friday,^ How did you enjoy 

jQiUi,,? — ' ^ 

Helen (exasperated). It's got nothing to do with 
Duchess's bridge party, and if you don't stop 
ing fun of me, Aunt Susan, I'll — I'll shake you ! 

Mrs. Tilling. Why ? What have I done ? 

Helen. It's much more serious than my hat, my 
dress, or the Duchess — it's got to do with Gerald. 

Mrs. Tilling. Gerald — j'our husband ? 

Helen. Yes. 

Mrs. Tilling. Oh, but I thought he didn't interest 
you ? 

Helen. Now don't start mocking me. 

Mrs. Tilling. But indeed, dear, last time you 
oame to see me, you told me Gerald m.eant as much 
to you as — a leg of a table does to the drawing-room 
carpet, or something like that. I'm so glad 3''ou've 
altered your mind. I'm so glad he isn't a piece of 
furniture and that you've taken a fancy to him. 

Helen. I haven't — he's taken a fancy to some- 
body else. 

Mrs. Tilling. Well, that's ah right— he'll be 
out of the w^ay, and you needn't be bothered with 
him any miore. 

Helen. But it isn't all right — it's all wrong. 

Mrs. Tilling. Then you do care for him — after 
all? 

Helen. Certainty not, I loathe him! 

Mrs. Tilling. I'm getting a little mixed, dear, 
but no doubt you're talking sense. 

Helen {hirsling out). Oh ! Do 3'ou want me 
to go mad ? 

Mrs. Tilling. Not very much. 



A CURS FOR INDIFFERENCE. 11 

Helen. You exasperate me beyond all words. 
I'm on lire — I'm raging — I'm like a Vesuvius that 
can't erupt. 

Mrs. Tilling. How very unpleasant ! But what 
can I do ? 

Helen. Give me something to smash ! 

Mrs. Tilling. But I don't know that there's 
anything I v/ant to part with in a hurry. 

Helen. It's here — itching in my fingers. I don't 
care what it is — man, woman, child or china— but 
something's got to be smashed ! 

Mrs. Tilling. Very well, then, that cat with 
the green eyes on the litlb. table ; it isn't very valu- 
able, and they say that it's unluckv. 

Helen {picking it up and smashing it) . Thank you. 

Mrs. Tilling. Now do you feel better ? 

Helen. Yes, that'll last me for a httle time. 

Mrs. Tilling. Then come and sit down and 
tell me all about it. 

Helen. Last night, at twelve o'clock, mind you, 
an hour when all respectable people are in bed, 
Gerald was supposed to be writing. I went to his 
stud37, and as I opened one door I saw the tail of a 
crimson cloak disappearing round the other. 

Mrs. Tilling. What did you do ? Scream ? 

Helen. Oh no, my dear aunt — I'm not quite so 
stupid as that— I crept. 

Mrs. Tilling. Crept ? -'^ 

Helen. I crept after the disappearing cloal 

Mrs. Tilling. Where did it go ^l 

Helen. I groped down inky staircases, si 
on abominable door-mats, wrestled with rebellious 
locks and ran down the darkened streets, but all in 
vain — the creature had evaded me, and the only 
thing I found was this — this ignominious fan. {Holds 
up a white fan.) 

Mrs. Tilling. And Gerald ? What of him ? 

Helen. We had words ! 

Mrs. Tilling. I can quite believe it. 




f^ A CURE FOR INDIFFERENCE. 

Helen. Strong words ! 

Mrs. Tilling. What did you say ? 

Helen. I told him he was a brute and a bully, 
and that he qualified for the Sultan of Morocco. 

Mrs. Tilling. And he ? What did he say ? 

Helen. He thanked me for thinking it out so 
nicely. Oh ! 

Mrs. Tilling. Look out, you'll break that fan 
if you're not careful, and really it's rather pretty. 

Helen. It isn't — it's hideous, and I hate the very 
sight of it ; picked up at some cheap bazaar. 

Mrs. Tilling. Still, it's a clue. 

Helen. Exactly, and so I spent the remaining 
hours of last night and this morning thinking — think- 
ing of my friends and their fans. 

Mrs. Tilling. So you believe it was one of your 
friends ? 

Helen. I'm certain of it. One can't help notic- 
ing that Gerald is good looking, even if he is one's 
.husband, and I've seen them eyeing him sometimes. 
'VA^ fi^st I thought it was Kitty Morrison — she's a 
^at, of course, but she is smart and she wouldn't 

e seen about with a thing like that {pointing to the 
fan). Then I thought of Olive Gibson, but she's 
" brainy," you know, and would be sure to carry 
something really ugly. But who do you think it looks 
like ? — this twopenny halfpenny fan ? Can't you 
guess ? Who's all swansdown, tinsel and non- 
sense ? 

Mrs. Tilling. I've not the least idea. 
Helen. Why, Sophie ! 
Mrs. Tilling. Your own cousin ? 
Helen. My own cousin and your niece — Sophie 
Frayle. 

Mrs. Tilling. I don't believe it for a moment. 
Helen. Of course you wouldn't, you always 
did favour Sophie ; in fact, it's quite appalling, the 
way you pamper her. 

Mrs. Tilling. I'm very fond of Sophie, certainly. 



A 



A CURE FOrt INDIFFEPvENCE. 13 

Helen. Well, you've no right to be ; she isn't 
respectable, running after other people's husbandsx 

Mrs. Tilling. You haven't proved it yet, Helen. 

Helen. No, but I shall. All the world shall 
know. Look here, look here at this fan. Can't you 
see an " S " traced in the corner ? 

Mrs. Tilling. Yes. 

Helen. And v/hcn I feel that Gerald — my hus- 
band — may have written it, I — I feel — I feel as if 

I could {Scii:es a china dog, a fellow to the 

departed cat.) 

Mrs. Tilling {stopping her). No — no, Helen, you 
killed the cat — the dog is more valuable. 

{Enter North.) 

North. Mrs. Frayle. 

{Enter Mrs. Frayls, a timid little person, full of tears.) 

Mrs. Frayle {dolefully). Good morning, aunt. 
{Seeing Helen.) Oh, I didn't expect to find you here. 

{Exit North.) 

Helen {icily). Nor I, you. 

Mrs. Tilling. Well, Sophie, and what wind 
blows you in ? 

Sophie. A very ill one, I'm afraid. Aunt Susan. 

Mrs. Tilling. Why, bless you, child, you look 
as if you've been crying half the night. 

Sophie. And so I have — oh. Aunt {beginning to 
cry.) I've — I've — something to tell you 

Mrs. Tilling. Well, upo^n my soul, you're the 
second this morning. What is it this time ? Is 
it your new hat — haven't they matched the ribbon 
properly ? 

Sophie. No, it isn't my hat, it's something far 
more serious. 

Mrs. Tilling. Then it must be your dress — it 
drags on the hips ? 



]4 A CURE FOR INDIFFERENCE. 

Sophie. No, it isn't my dress (sobbing) ; it's — 
it's — it's 

Mrs. Tilling. Of course, how stupid I am ! It's 
"'*% the Duchess's bridge party again . _Yaii__werenjt a 
I Vsuccess^ 

^ ^' SOMTe. But I was a success — a great success, 
2^. jand — it's nothtn^ to do with the Duchess-^it's^^-^ 
b.lQM's — something quite different, it's — it's — Harold ! 
I / Mrs. Tilling. But I thought he was only a 
^ cipher ? 

Sophie. I never said so. 

Mrs. Tilling. Oh yes you did, you said he bored 
you, and that you took him to the most crowded 
receptions in the hope that you might lose him. 

Sophie. Did I ? How foolish of me. I didn't 
mean it, of course — and now — and now it's too late, 
and he's a mormon and a monster. 

Mrs. Tilling. Whatever do you mean, and how 
is it too late ? 

Sophie (breaking down). Oh, I can't tell you now, 
it's — it's — too dreadful. 

Helen (losing patience). For goodness' sake stop 
snivelling, Sophie, and tell us what happened. 

Sophie. I can do that without your interference, 
Helen ! 

Helen. The sort of remark I should have ex- 
pected from you, dear. 

Mrs. Tilling. Now then, girls, no quarrel- 
ling. Dry your eyes, Sophie, and tell us what's jthe 
matter. 

Sophie (trying to begin). Well — er — well — er — 
well 

Mrs. Tilling. Yes, dear, we've heard that before. 

Sophie. Well — well — oh ! (It's no good, she has 
to break doivn again.) 

Mrs. Tilling. Quick, Helen, the smelling salts ; 
perhaps that will stop her. 

(Helen gets the salts, and applies them rather suddenly.) 



A CURE FOR INDIFFERENCE. 15 

Sophie. Oh ! you might have told me you were 
going to do it — 3'OU nearly blew my head off. 

Mrs. Tilling. Now then, Sophie, we're wait- 
ing. 

Sophie. It all happened last night. It was a 
little after twelve. I'm generally in bed at twelve, 
but I'd been out to the theatre with some friends. 
Lady AUenby was there, so it was quite all right. 
Well, as I v/as saying, it was a little after twelve— 
I noticed it particularly because the clock on the 
drav/ing-room mantelpiece had stopped and I looked 
at the one in the hall as I passed. Well ! as I was 
saying, it was a little after twelve— — 

Helen. Oh, make it one o'clock and let's get on 
with it. 

Sophie {aggrieved). It wT.sn't one o'clock, and I 
don't intend to tell a lie about it. It was a httle after 
twelve. 

Mrs. Tilling. Very well, dear, we quite agree 
with you, it was a Httle after twelve. What comes 
next ? 

Sophie. Harold was supposed to be writing in his 
study 

Mrs. Tilling. And wasn't he ? 

Sophie. Oh, yes— he was there all right, and so 
was some one else. 

Helen. Some one else ! 

Sophie. As I opened one door, I saw a woman 
in a crimson cloak disappearing out of the other. 

Helen. What ! 

Sophie {tearfully). Yes, it's quite true— he's a 
mormon and a monster. 

Mrs. Tilling. And you ? What did yott do- 
creep after her ? 

Sophie. Oh no, I screamed and fainted. 

Helen. I don't beheve it— she's making it up. 

Mrs. Tilling. Be quiet, Helen, you've not got 
the copyright in husbands. 

Sofhie. When I came round, I was quite alone 



16 A CURE FOR INDIFFERENCE. 

on the sofa, and clutched in my hand was a strange 
woman's handkerchief. 

Mrs. Tilling. A handkerchief ! 

Sophie. Yes, it must have been her handkerchief 
— the husband-snatcher's, I rnean, and was most 
probably lying on the sofa when I swooned. 

Mrs. Tilling. Had it any initials on it ? 

Sophie. No, but it was simply soaked in scent. 

Mrs. Tilling. A clue ! 

Sophie. That's what I thought, and so for the 
remainder of the night I've been sitting up and 
thinking — thinking of my friends and their scents. 

Mrs. Tilling. You don't mean to say you're 
going about smelling everybody's handkerchief ? 

Sophie. Why not ? Somebody's stolen my 
husband. 

Mrs. Tilling. Have you any idea who it is ? 

Sophie. X^s, I think I have. 

Helen. Who is it ? 

Sophie. I shouldn't like to say, Helen, in present 
company, 

Helen. What do you mean ? You don't sug- 
gest that I ? 

Sophie. Would you mind giving me your hand- 
kerchief, dear ? 

Helen. You little vixen ! You mean to say 
that you suspect your own cousin ! 

Sophie. If you're so sure, give me your hand- 
kerchief and prove your innocence. 

Helen. Innocence, indeed ! Take my hand- 
kerchief, and in exchange give me your apologies. 

Sophie (smells the two handkerchiefs). The same ! 
The very same ! 

Helen. What ! 

Sophie. You are the husband-snatcher, then 1 

Mrs. Tilling. Oh, Helen ! 

Helen. It isn't true — they can't be the same. 

Sophie. Smell them, Aunt Susan, smell them. 



A CURE FOR INDIFFERENCE. IT 

Mrs. Tilling {smelling them). I'm sorry, Helen, 
but they're undoubtedly the same. 

Helen. I don't believe it. She knows perfectly 
well that she went to see my husband last night, and 
she's making up this tale to shield herself. 

Mrs. Tilling. Oh ! how clever, Helen. 

Sophie. What do you mean ? 

Helen. Perhaps you recognize this fan ? 

Sophie. Yes, it's mine ! I lost it a few daj^s ago. 

Helen. You hear. Aunt Susan, she owns it. 
Who's the husband-snatcher now ? 

Mrs. Tilling. Oh, Sophie ! 

Sophie. I don't understand. 

Helen. Poor little Miss Innocence. You'll be 
surprised to hear I had a similar experience last 
'night as you reported. I also went to my husband's 
study at twelve o'clock and I also saw a crimson 
cloak disappearing round the door, and when it had 
gone I found this lying on the sofa. 

Sophie. My fan ! 

Helen. Your fan — so now apologize and tell me 
what you mean by it. 

Sophie. I never left it there — it must have been 
one of my friends. 

Helen. A pretty tale. 

Sophie. How dare you doubt my word ! Aunt 
Susan, you let her insult me so ? 

Mrs. Tilling. Well, the evidence is strong against 
you, Sophie. 

Sophie. And what about her handkerchief? 
She hasn't explained that yet ! 

Helen. Lots of my friends use the same perfume 
as I do. 

Sophie. No they don't. It's a very peculiar 
perfume. 

Helen. W^hat ! So you would call me a liar, 
then ! Aunt Susan, I appeal to you^Am I a liar ? 

Mrs. Tilling. \Vell, the evidence is strong; against 
you,, Helen. 



18 A CURE FOR INDIFFERENCE. 

Helen. Oh! oh! If I were a man I'd fight you, 
Sophie. 

Sophie. So would I, only I haven't got a sword. 

Mrs. Tilling. Well, you've both got stout 
umbrellas. 

Helen. A good idea. Sophie, en garde. {Stands 
in a fencing position with her umbrella.) 

Sophie. No, no, I didn't mean it. 

Helen. She's frightened, the coward. Come on. 

Sophie (feebly putting out her umbrella). Oh I 
She'll kill me, I know I shall be killed. 

Mrs. Tilling (chuckling). Courage, Sophie, die 
like an Enghsh woman. 

Sophie (banging about with umbrella). Oh ! it 
isn't fair. I'm not as strong as she is, and I never 
had a fencing lesson in my life. (Helen, by a quick 
movement, knocks the umbrella out of her hand. Sophie 
runs, Helen after her, waving her umbrella.) Oh ! 
oh ! she's knocked the umbrella from my hand. 
Oh ! oh ! she'll brain me. Aunt ! aunt ! stop her, 
she's running after me. Murder ! Fire 1 ! Police ! ! I 

Mrs. Tilling (coming between them). Children ! 
Children ! Listen to me. Helen, desist ! It's time 
you knew the truth. 

Mrs. Tilling. Yes, the cure is now complete. 

Helen. What do you mean ? 

Mrs. Tilling. My cure for indifference, for 
you're both certainly no longer indifferent, whatever 
^Ise you may be. You've proved that beyond a 
doubt, so put up your umbrellas and hsten to me. 
Helen, the woman you saw in your husband's study 
wasn't Sophie. And, Sophie, the woman you saw 
in your husband's study wasn't Helen. She was 
one and the same person. 

soThie^}^'''^. ^"^ y^"" ^"^""^ ■ 

Mrs. Tilling. I happened to be there. 



A CURE FOR IIs^DIFFERENCE. I» 

Helen. You happened to be there ? 

Mrs. Tilling. In fact, the interesting lady in the 
crimson cloak, who made you both so jealous, was 
no less a person than your foolish old Aunt Susan. 

Sophie. You ? 

Helen. I don't beheve it. 

Mrs. Tilling. Lift up the lid of that dress-box, 
please, Sophie, and see what's underneath. 

(Sophie pidls off the lid, disclosing the crimson cloak, 
with an exclamation of recognition.) 

Helen. The very same cloak. 

Sophie. The hat, too. 

Mrs. Tilling. Exactly, and the veil. 

Sophie {holding up a golden wig). And this ! 
What's this ? 

Mrs. Tilling. Oh, that's a golden- wig I bought 
in case either of you saw too much of me. It cost 
me quite a lot of money. 

Sophie. But why did you do it, aunt ? 

Helen. What was your object ? 

Mrs. Tilling. To teach you both a lesson. 
You know, it's a very funny thing, but when one 
gets an old woman, one's relations and their affairs 
mean such a lot to one. That's the way with life. 
When we are young, we are so selfish that the only 
busniess that interests us is our own ; when we grow 
older, we become so wwselfish that the only business 
that interests us is— other people's. You both 
interested me enormously, and I couldn't help seeing 
that you were making havoc of your young lives. 

Helen. Why ? 

Mrs. Tilling. You had grown indifferent to 
your husbands. You didn't care — oh, believe me, 
nothing is so fatal. I would rather you had hated 
them. So I put my old head together and tried to 
think how I could help, v/hen suddenly it struck 
me what a splendid plan it would be to play one 
against the other. 



20 A CUEE FOR INDIFFERENCE. 

Sophie. I see. 

Mrs. Tilling. So first I went and had lunch 
with Sophie. You remember ? 

Sophie. Last Tuesday, wasn't it ? 

Mrs. Tilling. Yes, I think it was. 

Sophie. The day I missed my fan. 

Mrs. Tilling. I stole it. 

Sophie. Auntie ! 

Mrs. Tilling. Then I went to dine with Helen, 

Helen. Last Wednesday. 

Mrs. Tilling. I had a headache, do you remem- 
ber ? 

Helen. Why, yes, and I went upstairs and 
fetched my 

Mrs. Tilling. Scent bottle. 

Helen. Auntie ! 

Mrs. Tilling. I borrowed it. Here it is {pro- 
ducing scent bottle out of little bag) . Would you like 
it back ? (Returns it to Helen.) Then I saw your 
husbands, told them my intentions, they agreed 
to help me, and all was well. 

Helen. But, last night 

Mrs. Tilling. I visited your house first, Helen, 
arriving there about a quarter to twelve, played 
my part and left again about five past. Went direct 
to Sophie's, reaching there a minute or two later — 
repeated my performance and came away, a little 
after twelve, Sophie ! Am I forgiven ? 

Sophie. Of course. Aunt Susan, of course. Oh 
dear, what a foohsh creature I've been ! And I 
called him a mormon and a monster. Oh dear ! 
Whatever shall I do. (Begins to cry.) 

Mrs. Tilling. Well, don't start that, for good- 
ness' sake, or we shan't be able to stop you again. 
(She looks up to see Helen with the telephone in heA, 
hand.) Why, Helen, what are you doing ? 
_IiE^L£&u-^ Telephoning. Gerald ! no — no, I mean 
(Bank)263^ Hullo ! hullo ! Darling, darling ! I'm 
p^^strfry — Si, I beg your pardon, I thought you were 




A CURE FOR INDIFFERENCE. 21 

my husband. Is that you, Gerald ? I'm so sorry — 
aunt has told me all about it. Forgive me, dearest, 
forgive me, and take me out to lunch. Oh, thanks, 
sweetheart — the Carlton, did you say ? One- 
thirty — right-o ! Till then, darl ng ! {Puis down 
receiver.) Don't you want to 'fhone, Sophie? 

Sophie. No thank you, Helen dear, I'm much 
too upset ; I should cry ail down Ihe telephone and 
make it wet. I must get a taxi cRc! go to him at 
once. Good-bye, Aunt Susan, good-bye, Eekn. 
{Going to door.) Oh dear, I wonder if he'll forgive 
me, and I'm sure miy nose is red, oh dear ! {Quite 
overcome.) And he dees hate red noses so. Ke 
told me this morning that mine scintillated. Oh 
dear ! And I — oh dear ! — I called him a mormon 
and a monster — oh dear ! {Exit.) 

Helen. Good-bye, Aunt Susan, you're a sport. 

Mrs. Tilling. Thank you, Helen. I say, you 
did make me run last night. 

Helen. Did I ? 

Mrs. Tilling. I thought my old legs v/ould drop 
off. Good-bye. Send North to me, will 3^ou ? I 
hope you'll enjoy your luncheon. 

Helen. Oh, I'm sure to, thanks. It's the Carl- 
ton, besides — I'm lunching with him ! {Exit.) 

{A slight pause.) 
{Enter North.) 

Mrs. Tilling. Oh, North, I'm thinking of taking 
a little nap. Is my shawl there ? 

North. Yes, mum. {Puts it round her.) 

Mrs. Tilling. Well, it's all over. North, and it 
was a great success. 

North. What was, mum ? 

Mrs. Tilling. The plot — oh, of course, I forgot — 
you didn't know — I shall have to tell you that an- 
other time. North. It'll make you laugh. How 
an old woman hoodwinked her nieces. 



22 A CURE FOR INDIFFERENCE. 

North. Yes, mum. Lc^ 

Mrs. Tilling {Jailing to sleeQ. Indifference^ it4 

the root of all evir°l^evef"g6 mTor it, North never P--^ 

Oh dear ! I shall enjoy a quiet nap, now it's all right.* 
Indifference— that's it — Indifference. Ah ! 

{She nods.) 
Curtain. 



Btder <& Tanner Froine and Loodea 



Continued from second page of coVer. 

SCENERY. 

Our stock of fcenery consists of 

The Oak Chamber Set. 

This scene will be found suitable for the purpose of an 
ordinary interior in nearly all plays requiring a room 
which is not representing a drawing-room, kitchen, or a 
very poverty-stricken type of room. The kind of 
furniture used in it will naturally do much to indicate the 
status of the people inhabiting 

The Drawing-room Chamber- 

This scene has been prepared on exactly the same 
lines as the oak chamber, and with the same object in 

view the increase in both height and width according 

to requirement. 

Both Large and Small Garden Scenes 
Both Large and Small Wood Scenes 

A Drop Scene 

Puffed Satin Paper for Proscenium 

Fireplaces 

House-piece for Street Scene 

Interior Window and Interior Doors 



FULLY ILLUSTRATED CATALOGUE 

Sent firatis on appUcation to SAMUEL FRENCH. Ltd., 34 
sSutbimoton Street. Strand, London ; or 28 West 38tli Street. 

XlAot Vn«i|r mtv. U.S.A. 



New York City, V.SJi. 



The Latest Additions 

to 

French's Acting Edition 



2513 THE HEADMASTER. By Wilfred T. Coleby 

and Edward Knoblauch ..... Is. 

2514 BEFORE BREAKFAST. By Ghita Sowerby . 6d. 

2515 'GENTLEMEN, THE KING! By Campbell Todd Is. 

2516 SELF-SUPPORTING. By Margaret Young . 6d. , 

2517 THE PURSUIT OF PAMELA. By C. B. Fer- 

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2518 A LITTLE ADDRESS. By Margaret Young . 6d. 

2519 THE LIARS. By Henry Arthur Jones . . Is. 

2520 JUST TO GET MARRIED. By Cicely Hamilton Is. 

2521 THE KING WHO HAD NOTHING TO LEARN. 

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2525 THE <JUOD WRANGLE. By Oliphant Down. 6d. 

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2528 THE RECRUIT. A' Play of the Moment . 6d. 

2529 THE COMPLEAT ANGLER. By Arthur Scott 

Craven and J. D. Beresford . , , . 64* 

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2532 THE STORY OF CORPORAL BEtL. A Play 

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1 



